


here's to love

by Catznetsov



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with Feelings, Power Dynamics, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 15:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19320655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catznetsov/pseuds/Catznetsov
Summary: Nick smiles again, close enough Tom could rub the pad of his thumb across his dimples. This is genuinely weird for him—he looks surprised, like he does whenever someone gets out a camera or, like, opens a door he didn’t have his eye on, but all he’s looking at is Tom.“I told you,” he says, “If it works, we want to make this work. We’re glad to have you,” and that last comes out like it surprises him too.Tom reaches out to find the center of his lip, inevitable.





	here's to love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AetherSeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherSeer/gifts).



2017

“You think I’m gonna do anything to fuck this up?” Tom says, and Nicky’s unpredictably colored eyes catch his, reflected in the TV screen. “Anything on purpose, okay.”

Nicky tips the corner of a smile right at him, without any mirror to mediate it, and settles back again. Supposedly they’re watching tape, but that’s just Nick’s way to tell you what to do without having to talk about it. Once Nicky told Tom to call his grandmom more often during tape review, like if Tom had called him out on getting kind of personal, Nick would’ve pointed at the screen and said it was too his business because repressed filial piety was fucking up Tom’s crossovers. But now the vid’s finished they’re really just hanging on a couch, and it’s definitely fucking Tom up.

“You didn’t do anything last time you played with us,” Nicky says easily. His first year Tom might’ve asked if he meant that the good or the bad way. Now he knows Nicky’s ambiguous tone is his way to tell you it’s both, but not like, the you’re on his shit list bad way. Tom gets a second opportunity on the top line he probably has no business on, and Nicky isn’t mad about it.

“Oh,” Tom says. “Thanks.” Nick smiles again, slouching into the couch. Is there any way to, like, ask he makes sure his elbow doesn’t brush up against Tom’s sweatshirt?

“How’s it going?” Alex asks, looming up behind them. Without turning his head Tom can feel the shape of him, broad and solid, putting off heat, one hand denting the cushion just behind Tom. Tom chews his lip through the familiar urge to turn and grab, haul him over, throw him down. Just once, just to show Tom totally could.

Nick says, “Okay,” squinting up at Alex, and Tom tries to be cool with what he does get, but he can’t help thinking that’s how Nicky really smiles.

“Good, good,” Alex says, and pats the top of Tom’s head. Presumably he goes against the grain—there’s only one way Tom’s hair wants to go, which is its own way, and it’s thick enough it’ll just stand up mortifyingly straight if you offend it—and spends a minute petting it back down. Tom closes his eyes and ignores how acutely he knows how big Alex’s hands are.

Tom’s are bigger. 

He has, actually, gotten used to being six foot five after like five fucking years. But Alex is Alex, he always acts like an earthquake couldn’t take him down, and it makes Tom want to throw him around real bad. Not even that rough, Tom just bets he could pick him up if Ovi let him, and he’d like, be so uniquely lucky if he did.

This _is_ mortifying, actually, hair aside. Nick and Ovi’s conversations are often so incredibly boring if you’re anyone but them, just “Hey Nicky,” “Hey,” “Oh, okay”, long radiant glances and the tiniest degrees of Nicky’s squint. Sure, Tom watches, but Tom’s a dick and he _chooses_ to be a dick to himself a lot of the time; he doesn’t want to be _stuck_ between them.

“What you think?” Alex says, which he totally just asked. 

“I’m sure Backy’s gonna answer that in a minute, okay, but I _am_ here,”Tom says, and swallows. “Just putting that out there. I can leave if you guys wanna, like, talk. With your words.” He keeps his head down, deferential, still under Alex’s palm. His throat is dry. Alex’s fingers settle, and then flex.

Nicky, in a bizarre move, laughs. He reaches out that too-short distance to clap Tom on the arm, and maybe he hadn’t realized how close he’d shifted while he’d been reviewing Tom, because he blinks like the touch landed before he was ready for it, too. His fingers curl down Tom’s shoulder and Tom is so glad he threw this sweatshirt on earlier, because even if he still swears he can feel the heat through it, he can confidently tell himself that’s stupid. Nick’s hands are always chilled, anyway; if they were really on his skin Tom wouldn’t be able to stop himself from shaking.

“We talked before,” Nicky says, like he’s tasting a thought. “Alex just wants to check in. Make sure you’re okay. Haven’t forgotten about him.” The little bow of his upper lip bends. 

Alex tightens his grip, like he’s going to shake Tom’s head gently by the hair, but Tom is doing it already. On second thought, maybe he didn’t need to make clear how constantly he thinks about Alex. But after sitting in the dark so close to Nicky, trading honesties, he isn’t ready to slink back into everyday jokes.

“I’m cool,” he decides on. 

Nick smiles again, close enough Tom could rub the pad of his thumb across his dimples. This is genuinely weird for him—he looks surprised, like he does whenever someone gets out a camera or, like, opens a door he didn’t have his eye on, but all he’s looking at is Tom. 

“I told you,” he says, “If it works, we want to make this work. We’re glad to have you,” and that last comes out like it surprises him too. 

Tom reaches out to find the center of his lip, inevitable. Nick doesn’t lean back, and he doesn’t move closer. His mouth presses against Tom’s finger for a moment, half a breath, before Tom makes his hand fall. 

Nicky catches it, and lays Tom’s hand softly back on the couch. 

Tom’s considering how he can casually sit on it, or if he can just leave it lying like a dead bird, nothing to do with him. Fuck, Nicky’s mouth might the only part of him that doesn’t feel like he lives out on the ice.

Nicky’s mouth pulls, curves, presses flat again. “Alex,” he says, as cool as anything, a warning, and Alex lets Tom’s hair go. His fingers barely drag over Tom’s shoulder, a quick flicker of resistance to Nick’s order, but then he slips around the corner of the couch and they’re gone. 

He hovers there, over Nick, until Nicky tips his gaze up and everything in Ovi settles into him. 

From any other angle in the room you’d think Ovi was leaning in to kiss him. Tucked into the couch next to him Tom can see how it’s Nicky catching him with fingertips under his collarbone, steadying Alex’s almost imperceptible fall.

Watching them is boring like the second week of a bad sprain, like hunger after practice.You already know, okay, but your body keeps reminding you what it wants.

Alex falls in to kiss Nick, and Nicky knocks him back onto his knees. Alex goes eagerly, maybe too much, so he lands more in front of Tom, the sound of a big body falling. Tom knows that sound, knows the breadth of him, knows from watching how bright Alex’s eyes are when he’s looking up at someone. He doesn’t know what’s going on.

One of Alex’s hands is on the arm of the couch to balance; the other slips over to brush under the back of Tom’s knee. Alex pushes up and kisses him, and Tom fucks it up. He kisses back.

Alex’s neat little mouth gives under his as Tom presses softly, falls open as Tom pulls back then angles them together better. The bones of his cheek and jaw that people always seem to think are too heavy fit in the cradle of Tom’s hands, new and familiar. Tom doesn’t lick in yet, he can’t, but he can feel Alex’s mouth there waiting warm to be filled. 

Nicky hisses, and they fall apart.

“I can go,” Tom says. His mouth tastes like salt and the sharp breath Alex just drew. “I don’t need to—um.”

Nicky touches his jaw, tips Tom’s head up, or maybe Tom just does it all for him. 

“We don’t need to,” Nicky agrees. “You can go.” A year ago Tom would’ve asked if he meant thatthe bad way or the good way, but it's just Nicky. Nicky always makes it seem like no storm breaks his calm, but Tom has seen him lose his temper now, enough to know that sometimes Nick is working harder not to let his waves show on the surface than to really settle them.

“Would you want me to?”Tom checks.

“Yes, yes,” Alex says happily, and plants his knee on Tom’s foot. Tom sees Nicky turn to stare at him in some kind of still horror.

“What? Alex, no,” Nicky says.

“What?” Alex says. “Alex yes! I want you, too.”

Tom says, “Oh,” and Nick says, “Jesus Alex,” and “I’m sorry, we really did talk before, about him… _behaving_ ,” to Tom. 

“No, yeah, English is hard,” Tom says. “So—sorry O, just a min—Nick, was that a no?”

“I should never of left Sweden,” Nicky mutters, probably pointedly wrong. “May I?” He presses two knuckles up under Tom’s chin, and Tom keeps right on letting him. 

The sweet tip of Nick’s nose brushes over the bridge of Tom’s, and then Nick’s lips, and then he finds his. Tom can feel the petal curve of his lower lip, the peak of the upper, the broad sweep of his cheeks just a breath away from Tom’s skin. One of Nicky’s waves slips free from behind Nicky’s ear to fall across Tom’s cheek. Tom is close enough he could tuck it back, but he wouldn’t. He closes his eyes to taste the touch instead, until Nicky lets him go.

“Ja, ‘no,’” Nicky says against Tom’s cheek, and when Tom peeks past his stray curl, Alex is winking at him, bright and satisfied. Tom is starting to get why they don’t talk with their words.

Nicky pulls back again, turns his fingertips to pet idly over Tom’s jaw. “Stay,” he says, as strict as ever but watching Tom’s eyes for something. 

Tom isn’t sure how to show it, or he would, so he smiles for Nicky, and when Nick seems to like that, turns his face to fit the smile into Nicky’s calloused palm. “I’m cool,” he tells Nicky’s touch.

Nicky gives him another pet and then goes still, turning to Alex, who quickly composes his face into something sweeter. “ _Now_ , you,” Nick says. “You want?”

“Yes Nicky,” Alex says, and can’t seem to help glinting at Tom again. “Thanks Nicky.”

“It’s ‘please’ first, and you say to Tom now,” Nicky says, but Alex is already rocking up onto the bony point of his knee still on Tom’s foot, and presenting his face again. Tom takes him between his palms, finds Alex’s mouth again, his plush lower lip, this time between Tom’s teeth. Tom can feel Nicky still warm beside him on the couch, and when Nicky’s hand settles careful on his back, bracing him as he leans over Alex, Tom bites down. Alex gives in to it, blooming into every touch.

“Tom,” Nicky says, low. He’s sitting carefully next to Tom, but his arm is around him now, starting to turn, Tom’s side and back against his chest. When he leans in he can tuck words behind Tom’s ear, almost private even when Alex so obviously there. “What do you want to do?”

“Whatever,” Tom manages. “I mean, whatever you say.” Nicky draws in a tight breath, and Alex sniggers under him.

“Quiet,” Nicky tells Alex. “You think I’m not going to use him? He’s bigger than me. Of course I’m gonna make him do things I can’t do with you.”

“What?”  Tom says. “Like what?” to make it clear he isn’t lost, or if he is, he doesn’t want out. 

“Oh, well. Think you can lift him like this?” Nicky asks, low. Tom nods so Nicky will be able to feel it. “Good.” Tom feels him lift a hand and pet the short hair of Tom’s fade behind his ear with the backs of two fingers.

Tom tips back over Alex, running his hands down Alex’s face, and when Alex opens up under his hands Tom drops them to his barrel ribs, grips and lifts him like so much weight. Alex slides into his arms without Alex’s cooperation or resistance. Nicky’s arms are there to brace Tom, a hand catching Alex’s shoulder and guiding his face and upper body in to Nicky’s chest. The rest of him settles on Tom, belly and hips on his lap, thighs sprawling out on the couch beside them, as everything in Alex goes easy.

Nicky scrubs his fingers through Alex’s hair, maybe on purpose, fucking it up. His hands framing Alex look so good, delicate and digging in. Tom has gotten used to sharing ice with Nicky, mostly. But Nicky is Nicky, and it makes Tom want to kiss each of his knuckles and his palms, to risk teeth and test with his tongue, if Nick will let him take his fingers in his mouth and suck them. Maybe too used to it, because that thought does the trick just like always. 

Tom tries to push his thighs apart under Alex’s weight, or maybe tighter together. He’s most of the way to hard now, the way he likes to get just by thinking before he’d slip a hand down his pants if he were at home, rub himself the rest of the way through his briefs before shoving them down. He tries not to do it every time, not to do it when he’s hooking up, but hockey players and their dicks are creatures of habit, and if he keeps thinking about it the thought of Nicky can always get him the last little ways to hard enough to fuck someone’s ass.

The movement only makes Alex squirm, dragging the fabric of Tom’s jeans over his dick, and then when Alex’s hips buck Tom can feel the heat of him against his thigh, between him and Nicky. Nicky twists his fingers, forcing Alex’s face back enough so he can press careless kisses to his hairline and his temple. Alex’s back has to bend to accommodate him, deep. The sweet swell muscle on either side of the hollow of his spine flexes and softens, filling Tom’s hands. Then Alex tenses again, trying to push himself up enough to angle his face for a proper kiss. 

Nicky shoves his head down. It forces Alex’s hips back squarely onto Tom’s lap, his dick heavy between Tom’s helpless thighs, his face pillowed on Nicky’s belly. Tom's not entirely sure he can breathe. 

Tom’s hands had to go somewhere when Alex slid down. Looking down he can see them like they don’t belong to him, spread over Alex’s waistband and the curve of his thigh, framing his ass. The fabric of his dress pants, which for once weren’t as revealing as the little shorts he likes to wander around in, pull tight, everything on display for Tom. All he has to do is stretch out his fingers to feel the heat of Alex’s skin through the single layer of fabric. There’s no way he’s wearing underwear.

“Tom,” Nick says, barely too quick, catching on his lips, betraying how he’s breathless. “Hit him.”

Tom’s a bit of a dick to himself, but Nicky isn’t usually. There’s no way that’s okay. Tom isn’t allowed to. He chews on his tongue, nothing he can think of to say. His mouth tastes for a moment like he might be about to cry.

“You need me to show you?” Nicky says, low, leaning in against Tom’s side. “Alex, show him, hm?” His hand strokes slow down over Alex’s back and doesn’t quite cover Tom’s, hovering. Tom might flinch, pulling back the trespassing hand, and Nicky takes the offering. His fine fingers sweep over Alex’s ass, cup the swell of it and dig in suddenly below at the crease of his thigh, and then lifts for a ringing smack. 

Alex croons, rubbing his face into Nicky’s shirt and his hips back sharply into Tom’s thigh. Nicky slaps him again, and Alex rocks into them again, eager for attention. The hard sweep of his hipbones digs into Tom’s muscle, the movement dragging at Tom’s zipper, enough to hurt. Maybe Tom is the dick here after all, because he loves it. He jerks his hand back to his mouth to muffle himself, but it’s too late.

“Tom,” Nicky says. “Tom, here. Look at me.” He reaches out for Tom’s chin but Tom’s already turning to him. His eyes are bright, fingers ginger under Tom’s jaw as Tom meets his gaze. 

“Sorry,” Tom whispers back, as true as he can. He doesn’t want Alex to hear. If he could he wouldn’t want Nicky to either, but Nicky needs to know. He’s sorry for wanting like this, wanting to hurt when Alex isn’t even his. 

“It’s alright,” Nicky says, smiling with his eyes, crinkling closed. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I can’t,” Tom says. Nicky doesn’t go stiff, but he stays pointedly still. 

“You want me to stop?” he says. There’s something layered in his voice, strained, but nothing else gives Tom’s a clue how he feels on the matter. Alex is silent waiting between them.

“No, no,” Tom says. “Of course, it’s, he’s—yours, you can.”

Nicky thinks about that for a minute and then says, damningly bland, “Okay.” 

“Okay,” Tom parrots. They breathe like that, with Alex guiding them, for a long time, until Nicky flicks his fingers under Tom’s chin again for his attention.

“Tom. If that’s all,” he says, “I’m saying it’s alright.” He twists a little more, running fingers behind Tom’s ear. “I can do it, yes? My right. So I’m saying, you do it for me.”

Tom says, “Oh,” and “Okay, okay.” He can’t think of anything else.

“Ja, okay,” Nicky says, and draws his hand away, gathering Tom’s up and bringing it back to Alex’s ass. He rubs Tom’s palm in, warming a spot, then guides it back and taps Tom’s wrist. Tom hits Alex, nothing like as hard as he can but sharp, and Alex cries out for it. 

“Thank you,” Tom says, “I—“ and Alex rolls his hips emphatically for more, making Tom moan too. He feels more than sees Nicky nod encouragement and he gives Alex what he wants again. 

Tom’s hands must be nothing like Nicky’s, so big he covers most of Alex’s cheek each time, and he still feels to recklessly feverish to manage much variety, just steady rhythm. Alex moves over him at the pace he sets, hard slaps and soft and then a daring squeeze, Alex grinding down on Tom’s dick. 

There’s no way Tom’s making it long. He tries to mumble protest, but Alex shifts a little maybe to make more room for Tom, and the movement must sting somewhere tender because his breath hitches, the sound sweet and tight. Tom can only imagine what his face looks like, rubbed pink and mouth wet against Nicky’s shirt, and he probably shouldn’t imagine it for too long.

Tom turns his head, seeking for air, and Nicky finds him. He lets Tom press his raw lips over the corner of Nick’s mouth, the fullness of his chin, parts his own lips only when Tom finally finds the right angle and lets him lick in the way Nicky apparently likes. On top of Tom Alex sounds like he’s drowning, desperate for a look or for air, but Tom gets this.

“Just a minute. Just Alex, now. Can you?” Nicky says into his cheek, and Tom can, or he has to be able to, since he can’t disobey. 

He pulls back his hand like Nicky did, drags his hand down Alex’s cheek and grinds in just below, pushing Alex down into Tom’s lap and pinning him there even as Alex’s hips try to buck back, working his dick between Tom’s thighs. His ass is aching hot under Tom’s palm and Tom thinks he could stay like this forever, until Alex starts to shake. Tom manages to snatch his hand away, and lays one last blow across Alex’s cheek as Alex comes in Tom’s lap.

“Nicky?” Tom says, the only word that makes sense, but Nicky only kisses him, gripping the back of his neck and shoving his head back to use Tom’s mouth how Nicky likes. Tom thinks about his fingers, thinks about asking for them in his mouth too, and then thinks,  _ next time _ , as his belly melts into heat.

“We don’t need you,” Nicky admits like he's just continuing the thought he had at the start of all this, barely a breath, pushing the hair back from Tom’s forehead. His fingers trace the second half into his cheek. “We want you here.”


End file.
